


Bromantic Dance Comes to an End

by Diary



Category: Inception (2010), This Means War (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Inception Fusion, Bisexual Eames (Inception), Bisexual Franklin "FDR" Foster, Bisexual Tuck Hansen, Dreams, Families of Choice, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Late Night Conversations, Literal Sleeping Together, Matchmaking, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Not Actually Unrequited Love, POV Franklin "FDR" Foster, Romance, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2020-01-01 02:22:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18326735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diary/pseuds/Diary
Summary: AU. Crossover. He wonders if he’s going to asphyxiate in the back of a British dream invader’s van. Complete.





	Bromantic Dance Comes to an End

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Inception or This Means War.

FDR knows Tuck rarely remembers dreams.

Sometimes, Tuck’ll wake up from a nightmare, and sometimes, he suspects Tuck has a nightmare (or worse, several) Tuck didn’t wake up from, and Tuck can remember those, probably with more clarity than he lets on. Normal or good dreams, though, if Tuck has them, he usually doesn’t remember anything about them.

(He remembers, once, Tuck came to his apartment with red eyes. It took time to get out: Tuck had a dream about Joe all grown up and happy, and he wanted to be sure he’d always remember it.)

It’s different with him. He’s never been able to explain it to Tuck, but in dreams, some part of him usually knows he’s dreaming, but at the same time, he doesn’t peg the dream as a dream until he wakes up.

This is how he knows-

He tries to kiss Tuck, and Tuck subtly dodges, and his mind says _okay, we’re not together_ (except, they still hold hands, and this isn’t normal), and they’re at Nana Foster’s house. Joe’s riding Starling, the pony he himself had as a kid (she died when he was fourteen, but he and Nana Foster are soon going to surprise Joe and Tuck with Joe’s own pony, they’ve talked to Katie, and Tuck’s definitely going to murder him), and he suggests, “Hey, if Katie goes on that business trip, why don’t you see if you can get Joe instead of him going to his grandparents? We could have a CHiPs marathon after he does his homework and go out for ice-cream after dinner.”

Tuck doesn’t- he looks like Tuck, but he doesn’t, and the expression on his face-

Something is going on, but he thinks, maybe, Joe has outgrown CHiPs (not everyone will be watching it when they’re in a nursing home, he knows), and he says, “Or whatever he’s into nowadays. Unless it’s something _I_ freak out about. Remember, I’m the cool one, Mr Worrywart.”

“Oh, yeah,” and this is Tuck’s voice, but it’s also not Tuck’s voice, it’s too light, too heavy, too casual, familiar in a set off red alerts way, “and what’s Katie in the equation?”

“Ex-wife,” he automatically replies. Trying to steady himself, he continues, “And she’s the sensible one. She and Nana Foster make sure we don’t end up doing anything completely stupid when it comes to Joe.”

Tuck’s smile isn’t Tuck’s smile, and a huff from Starling shows she’s glaring over at Tuck.

This definitely isn’t right. The only time Starling ever got glare-y was when a stray dog came onto the property, and she absolutely would have loved both Joe and Tuck.

Tuck would have absolutely adored her.

He notices Joe is now standing over by the barn, and Starling is fully turned with huffy glaring at Not-Tuck.

“In fairness,” Tuck (Not-Tuck?) says, “there isn’t much of a way to guess this sort of thing. You’re going to want to punch me or worse, dear cousin, and fair’s fair, I suppose. But I honestly wouldn’t have done this if I’d known.”

Then, he watches as Starling kicks Tuck, Tuck disappears, and the dream changes.

…

In the morning, he wakes up confused and off-kilter.

There was a Tuck-lookalike in his dream, but he’s not sure what exactly this Tuck (?) said or did. He vaguely remembers his old pony, Starling, was there, but he can’t recall any of the details.

His phone rings, and he wonders if he should tell Tuck that he doesn’t need Tuck to provide a wake-up call anymore.

Years ago, his alarm clock was broken, and Tuck called to wake him up. Even after he got a new alarm clock, Tuck kept calling, and he’d never really questioned or tried to change it. He likes his ringtone better than the alarm clock’s beeping, and he can sleep through any music that comes on.

The fact he could just set his phone to wake him itself- if he’s completely honest, he likes the fact Tuck is the first human voice he hears in the morning.

“Hey, I’m up. I had a weird dream last night. You were there.”

“Do I want to ask for more information,” is Tuck’s wry response.

“I don’t remember most of it. Is Katie going on that business trip?”

“Yeah. Uh, Joe’s staying with his grandparents. I forgot it’s her dad’s birthday this weekend.” Tuck sighs.

Repressing a sigh of his own, he resists asking why they should get Joe for the whole week just because his birthday is on the weekend. “We still on for dinner tonight?”

“Sounds great. Hey, remember, we have a meeting at nine. Make sure your water bottle is filled.”

He doesn’t bother stopping his groan. “Seriously? We had a meeting last week. This is your fault.”

“I wasn’t the one who almost let the hijacker get away, and this is a company-wide meeting, which-”

“Yeah, I’d know if I ever read the memos. That’s what I have you for.”

He almost protests about the hijacker, but that’d definitely start an argument. Tuck’s convinced he got distracted by a pretty woman, and this is only partially correct. He saw a woman who was clearly new to taking insulin about to inject an air bubble into herself, and he’d stopped to help her.

When he gets to the bathroom, Tuck says, “I’ll talk to you later.”

It hits him: For years, he gets off the phone just before he goes in the bathroom, and at some point, Tuck must have picked this up enough to be able to judge when this is about to happen.

“Yeah, see you, later, man.”

…

Tuck brings breakfast.

“Any idea what this meeting’s about, oh reader of boring inter-departmental memos?”

Scoffing, Tuck shakes his head. “No. I get the feeling the acting director doesn’t know what it’s about, either. It’s a shame Collins chose this week to go on vacation.”

Remembering Breton is Collins replacement, he finds himself sharing the sentiment. Breton is great at forensic accounting and getting large groups of people sweet deals on bagels and doughnuts, but he has none of Collins’ leadership skills. “Great. What’s our extraction plan?”

“No extraction plan. Do you not remember what happened last time? We’re going to sit through this meeting, you’re going to keep your smart arse comments to a minimum, and hopefully, we’ll both get to go home at a reasonable time tonight.”

Finishing his muffin, he offers his hand. “Have we met? Hi, I’m FDR Foster, one of the top operatives around here. I’m something of a rebel, actually, but I think you and I might get along. MI13?”

Almost failing in his endeavour not to laugh, Tuck bats his hand away. “Hilarious. There’s still no MI13.”

“Hey, I get it. For almost 50, 60 years, there was this no such agency involving computers in America, at least, according to most of the general public. Which is weird, when you think about it, with Dan Brown and that Bruce Willis movie being mildly popular.”

At Tuck’s look, he rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on. You’re the one who bought me those Dan Brown books.”

“Yeah, no, I got that reference. Bruce Willis, though?”

“Clear your schedule this weekend. After brunch at Nana’s, we’re illegally obtaining-”

“Just tell me the name, and I’ll see if I can’t work my magic at the library, alright?”

“Fine.” He dramatically sighs. “I miss Blockbuster. Them going away, was that us? Or the aforementioned notorious secretive agency? I know it wasn’t you MI-Whatevers. Or was Blockbuster international?”

“I know you’re actually a top operative,” Tuck says, “but sometimes, I find myself wondering, ‘How exactly?’”

“Love you, too, buddy. You going to finish that?”

Tuck hands over his last bite of egg toast.

“Thank you.”

…

“Ladies and gentlemen, this involves Project Dreamshare,” Breton announces.

He can practically feel Tuck tensing beside him, but looking over, he sees, aside from clear grumpiness, Tuck is taking this okay.

For his own part, he’s not happy, either. Three soldiers died when Dreamshare was in it’s infancy, there are skilled criminals who know how to use it against civilians running around, and at least one of the original founders of the project is also dead.

Tuck, though, for all he hates certain ideas both of their governments have had, Dreamshare is one of the biggest.

“We’ll be bringing in a consultant.” Breton looks straight at them.

“No seducing the consultant,” he guesses.

“Not trying to be sexist, but the chances are statistically higher that the consultant’s male,” Tuck says with his mouth around a pen.

Tuck’s oral fixation is really getting out of control, he thinks in exasperation.

It’s safer to focus on this than his instinct to reply, _So?_

They’ve had one conversation about his bisexuality. The company’s gotten genuinely more progressive about non-straight employees, but he’s not ready to give up who everyone, including, to an extent, Tuck, thinks he is.

Strangely, Breton’s body language is less exasperated and more- genuinely worried?

Then, the consultant comes in, and the main thing is: Tuck always carries a knife, and his immediate reaction is to grab Tuck when Tuck goes for it.

As he’s doing this, he vaguely manages to take in the gasps and the fact that the consultant looks- he has a beard, and though also tattooed, his tattoos are different from Tuck’s. Unlike the suited Tuck, this man is wearing something similar to the outfits Tuck wears when they go to Nana Foster’s.

Otherwise, he looks like Tuck’s identical twin brother.

“Hey,” grabbing the back of Tuck’s neck, he squeezes Tuck’s wrist. “What’s going on, man? You told me you had no-”

“I didn’t have any family!” Tuck glares past him. “In England, I had some distant cousins, all lowlifes, and one of them happens to look a lot like me.”

“Though, some would say I’m the handsomer of us,” the consultant says. He sounds remarkably like Tuck, but Tuck’s accent has changed slightly over the years. It has more of an American twinge to it, and this other man’s accent isn’t fully British, either, but it has strong non-American influences.

“Okay, good, not a twin brother, then. Still, it’s probably not the best idea to kill him, buddy. Think of Nana Foster’s great-grandchild and Katie, okay?”

He eases Tuck back into the chair.

Rubbing his head, Breton glares at the consultant, and he realises: Breton likely didn’t know how closely the man resembled Tuck. He probably knew they were related, but he didn’t have time to meet with him before now.

Still, the idiot should have contacted Tuck as soon as he found out about the relationship.

“Let’s all take a ten minute break,” Breton announces.

…

In Collins’ office, Tuck demands, “How in the hell did you get mixed up in Dreamshare?”

Shrugging, the man offers his hand. “Hello, Agent Foster. Since my cousin here isn’t going to do the polite thing and introduce us, I’m Eames. Not a Harrison or Hansen, though.”

Keeping an eye on Tuck, he shakes the hand.

Tuck scoffs. “That’s what you’re calling yourself, now?”

“That’s my actual name, cousin dear.”

Seeing Tuck has almost fully calmed down, he tries to deal with his own threatening to rise panic. He had a weird dream last night, but all this is coincidence.

Dreamshare requires drugs and equipment. There’s no way Eames could have drugged him, gotten into his apartment, and then, left without a trace. There’s too much security, and he knows what being drugged feels like.

“Acting Director, I’m good. As long as _Eames_ here doesn’t step too much out of line, I’ll remain professional.”

“You know that it’s my actual name, you’ve seen my birth certificate.”

“Dreamshare has been compromised,” Breton says. “This is a serious matter.”

“Understood,” Tuck says.

He nods. “Yes, sir.”

“I don’t have a problem with either of these two,” Eames says.

Tuck’s hand only twitches slightly.

…

Back in the conference room, Eames says, “Now, I don’t want to alarm anyone, but Dreamshare has been majorly compromised. There are people like me who can get the equipment and find the chemists, but we’re few. However, innovation has begun.”

He clicks on the projector. “This device is one of two. The British government has one, and the other- well, that’s why we’re here today. Someone, likely an American, has stolen and is using it. With this device, if you can get a copy of someone’s brain scan and get within a certain physical proximity of the person, this device can allow you to remotely enter someone’s dreams.”

His stomach drops, and he feels the sickening pricks of fear and horror running underneath his skin.

It was Eames in his dream. He doesn’t remember much of it, but he remembers hand holding and trying to kiss-

The correct thing to do is tell Breton immediately.

He will, but right or wrong, he has to break this to Tuck privately, first.

God, he wishes he’d let Tuck do whatever Tuck wanted to do with that knife.

…

“Hey, are you alright? I know you hate this almost as much as I do, but-”

“Nana Foster will always have visitation rights to Joe.”

Tuck blinks. “Well, yeah, of course, mate. FDR, what’s going on?”

Then, Tuck’s actually putting a hand on his forehead.

“I’m fine. Not sick. Look, Tuck-”

“There you both are.” Eames comes over. “I’m glad I caught you before you talked to Breton. The question is, did I catch you before you told him?”

“Told me what?” Tuck glares at Eames. “What did you do?”

“All CIA affiliates are required to have yearly MRI scans. Last night, I entered your partner’s dreams.”

It’s much harder to physically restrain Tuck this time.

“Hey, no. Look, Tuck, I’m sorry about this, I really am, but killing or otherwise using that knife, I can’t let you, buddy.”

He almost topples when Tuck suddenly slumps under his hands, and he feels his breath catch when Tuck looks at him. “Why are you sorry? You did nothing wrong.” The eyes harden as Tuck looks past him. “You, though, you should understand how serious I am: If you ever went into my son’s dreams, it’d be wise for you to leave now and never come back. Because, if I ever find out you did, then, I get the chance, I will kill you, Eames.”

“I know,” is the calm reply. “I’ve only ever gone into one kid’s mind, and it wasn’t your boy. Back to the topic at hand, in answer to your question to him, I made myself look like you. More than our current resemblance, I mean. Your wife might be going on a business trip, and he asked if Joe’d be staying with you this week. I saw how beautiful the house and horses his grandmother has are.”

“Katie and I are divorced.” Grabbing his shoulder, Tuck starts pushing. “Let’s go. We’ll talk to Breton in a minute.”

...

They go outside to the picnic tables, and Tuck outright fusses over him.

“I’m fine. Tuck-”

Sitting down, Tuck puts a hand on the back of his neck.

Despite his swirling emotions and racing mind, his body relaxes.

“Hey, look at me.”

He does.

“I know you’d never intentionally put Joe or Katie in danger. This wasn’t your fault. No one should have to guard their dreams, of all things. Did he do anything to hurt you?”

As much as he can, he shakes his head. “Like I said, there was something weird, but I don’t remember most of it. I don’t think he did anything but talk to me. Maybe observe unnoticed before or after he did.”

“Good. FDR, me and you, we’re family, remember? You and Nana Foster are more family to me than he ever was. I love you both. You, I trust you more than anyone. Eames, he’s just someone who shares a direct bloodline and a close physical resemblance. That’s all he’s ever been to me.”

Finally, everything in him relaxes.

Tuck presses their foreheads together, and closing his eyes, he tells himself everything truly might turn out okay.

…

He has mixed feelings about Breton making it clear they aren’t to go anywhere near the retrieving the device, but he’ll acknowledge this is a smart move on Breton’s part.

After a battery of tests, he’s given the all-clear to go home.

“I can’t believe my cousin is still free!”

“He won’t get near Agent Foster again,” one of the doctors assures Tuck. “Or anyone else, including you, Agent Hansen.”

“Unless he walks right in,” Eames quips.

He wonders how many times he’s going to have to keep restraining Tuck. “No. Sensitive medical equipment, buddy. You could hurt a lot of people if the wrong thing is damaged.”

Having done a lot of reading in the last few hours, he knows this isn’t a dream. He’d even tipped a chair he was sitting in over to make sure.

Just as she does now, the doctor had looked as if she doesn’t get paid enough, and really, she’s probably right, he reflects.

However, despite knowing for sure this is reality, seeing Eames causes twitchiness inside him.

Tuck starts to lead him out, but Eames steps in front of them. “I did it, because, I wanted to see how he felt about you, dear cousin. Now, here’s a suggestion: Implement a totem, Agent Foster. Pick something, and decide how it’ll act or not act in a dream. I know someone who always carries a loaded die around. If it acts normally, the person’s awake. If it defies the laws of physics, asleep.”

“Some people,” Eames adds with a glance at his (FDR’s) hands, “have a built-in totem within dreams.”

“Fine way you’ve decided to make a living for yourself,” Tuck acidly remarks.

Shrugging, Eames smiles. “Tell me, which of us married, and then, divorced on a lie?”

“And we’re leaving.” He quickly tugs Tuck out the door.

Following, Eames continues, “As far as I know, I don’t have any kids, but if I were committed to someone, if we had a child together, whatever others think of my line of work, I’d, at least, be honest about it with them.”

“Piss off, Eames,” Tuck says.

Thankfully, Eames finally does, and they get to their cars without further incident.

…

Starling nuzzles against him, and he finds himself looking down at his hands.

Tuck has a ring from his military service.

Is it common for him to wear Tuck’s ring in his dreams?

Before he can try to figure it out, the dream changes.

…

Waking up, he finds himself looking down at his hands.

There’s no rings, and he doesn’t even know if any of Tuck’s would fit him.

The smell of breakfast hits him, and he goes out to find Tuck whistling along with the radio as he cooks.

At his laughter, Tuck tosses a towel at him.

“Smells great, man.” He sits down. “Uh, I’m sorry for basically crashing out as soon as we got home.”

“After the day you had, it’s no surprise. Don’t worry about it, okay?” Tuck hands him a glass of orange juice.

“So, I was thinking, since Joe’s gone for the week and your cousin might be around for even longer than that, want to see if we can get in on that Peru assignment? We should be back by the time Joe is, and if Eames is still around, well, we’ll deal with that then.”

Setting a plate in front of him, Tuck sits down with his own. “Yeah, that sounds great, mate.”

He raises his glass, and giving a beautiful smile, Tuck clinks his against it before saying, “Cheers.”

…

On the Peru assignment, he learns: Yes, he often, if not always, has Tuck’s ring on when he dreams.

When they return, Collins says, “Welcome back, gentlemen. Sit down. Eames is currently in SIS’s custody. Since we have no idea how long he’ll remain there, however, plans have been drawn up to minimise the risk to you and your families from him.”

“What about the device, ma’am,” Tuck asks. “And FDR’s brain scans?”

She hands them packets. “Here’s what’s being done to find any loose data and prevent further data from being obtained. For the moment, both devices are out-of-commission, and we’ve found no evidence of there being any others out there.”

Tuck sighs. “It’s good to have you back, ma’am.”

He nods in agreement.

…

“I was thinking we should celebrate,” he declares. “Want to pick Joe up and go out for dinner? Just the three of us?”

“It’ll have to be another night. Sorry, but I’m taking him and Katie out tonight.”

Brushing away the hurt, he slings an arm over Tuck’s shoulders. “Good for you. I’m going to see if I can find someone to buy breakfast for. Where are you taking them?”

…

He’s watching Andy Griffith re-runs when Tuck texts him about needing his car jumped.

Heading to the spot, he feels something’s off before he fully gets there, and a vehicle that isn’t Tuck’s along with Eames standing beside it confirms this. Glancing down at his hands, he sees he’s wearing no rings.

He makes sure his taser baton is within easy reach before getting out.

“Cloned Tuck’s phone?”

“And yours. He’ll be here soon. Did you know I’ve never seen Joe in person? I don’t blame my cousin for that, but someday, Joe’s going to be a man of his own. This world,” Eames glances at the stars with a small, almost sad smile, “can be very dangerous, in ways even you don’t fully grasp, place full of unpleasantness, Agent Foster. So, what I’m going to do is give you and Tuck some information that might help bring something good into this world his boy will one day inherit.”

Eames offers his hand, and he’s not sure why he does the stupid thing of shaking it.

Especially when he finds himself falling down paralysed.

“Of course, I understand if you don’t stop my cousin from killing me the next time he gets the urge.” Eames hauls him over to the vehicle. “Don’t worry. It’s only a strong paralytic. You’ll come out of it in an hour or two, and once Tuck’s gone, I’ll drop you off somewhere safe.”

…

He’s been paralysed before, but this is worse.

At least, with some of the paralytics, he could still talk.

Under a covering in the backseat, he hears Tuck and Eames getting in.

“What do you have back here, Eames?”

“Nothing. I just cover it during the day to protect the seats from the sun and haven’t taken it off yet.”

Don’t believe that, he pleads. C’mon, Tuck, don’t-

“What do you want?”

“How long are you and he going to do this bromantic dance before something gives?”

Tuck scoffs, and hearing the door opening, he wonders if he’s going to asphyxiate in the back of a British dream invader’s van.

“Right. I’d say have a good life, Eames, but- well.”

“He has a genuine talent for reading people. What’s funny about that is, he’s too in love to see the feeling’s mutual.”

There’s sounds of movement, probably Eames trying to stop Tuck from fully getting out.

“Should I ask him?”

Tuck’s response is full of words he’s been careful to avoid saying since Joe was born. In extremely high-stress situations, some of them have come out, but for Tuck to be this angry now-

Taking a deep breath, Tuck’s next words are more controlled. “I loved my wife. I still love Katie, she’s just not my wife anymore. She and I are managing to co-parent Joe. Whatever you think FDR is, whatever you think I am, you can go-”

“Yes, dear cousin, we’ve established that quite thoroughly. Have you ever heard of the concept of bisexuality? Loving him, wanting to have sex with him, to sleep in his bed beside him instead of his guestroom, wanting to hold his hand, none of that means you didn’t love and sexually desire and remain faithful to the woman you married.”

There’s unsettling quiet.

Softer, Eames continues, “Why are you so angry at me pointing out the obvious? I can understand him being interested in men isn’t your right to tell, and I won’t push that. But we both know, bisexual, gay, or something else, he’s not straight, either.”

“You’re nothing to me,” and a chill runs down him at how flat and utterly contemptuous Tuck sounds. “I never had a family growing up, and I’m glad you weren’t around back then. As much as I wanted, so desperately- I’m glad I didn’t know about you. Who in the hell knows how I might have turned out?”

“But I have one, now. Katie and I might be divorced, but we share a child. Our beautiful boy, our Joe, he’s a permanent connection. FDR is the best friend I’ve ever had. Likely ever will have. His family, they like me. Accept me. So, yes, maybe, he could be- but even if he were, I’d never throw away what I have just to-” Tuck makes a low noise.

He’s- not sure how to process any of this.

“What?”

Tuck isn’t going to answer, they both know.

Eames sighs. “I wonder if it’s genetic. There’s this man I’ve done a few jobs with. You and him would probably get along well. Similar personality types. I don’t have any problems with liking men, cuz. Puberty hit, and I wanted both. The fact the world at large said I shouldn’t want one half, ah, well, piss on them.”

“But this man- I made a mistake. I told myself I was fine with him not returning my feelings, that I could still have some fun, and it turns out, now, I get to face the consequences of that. To see you making this mistake that’s so very different but yet so very similar, I have to try to do something. FDR could not return your feelings. Do you really think he’d abandon you over that?”

His heart hurts at how tired Tuck sounds in his response.

“I’m going to regret this. But let’s say FDR isn’t straight and he does return these feelings you accuse me of having-”

“Accusation is a-”

“Shut up,” Tuck snaps. “There’s a difference between being a godparent and taking on a step-parent type role. I know FDR would never hurt Joe, but being a divorced parent is hard. I imagine dating one might, in some ways, be harder.”

“From what I can see, he’s already practically co-parenting Joe along with you and Katie. Is that the only big concern?”

“The thing is, on an intellectual level, I understand monogamy might not be the best model for the human race. It has been used to control women, to stigmatise innocent children’s place in society, all that. But sex can be such a personal, special thing with the right person. Serious to me means that this special, personal thing stays between us.”

I can be monogamous, is his indignant thought.

He realises this isn’t a great time to be focusing on that instead of continuing trying to will himself to move and/or make noise.

It honestly stings, though. He’s been monogamous in the past, and- all he wants is Tuck.

The idea Tuck might want him back, he’s never considered this could possibly be a realistic thing.

“Is that it, then? You think he’ll refuse to be monogamous, and so, you’ll suffer in silence as he sleeps with other people and possibly falls in love with one of them?”

“Yeah, that sounds about right. Get the hell out of this country, Eames.”

He hears Tuck leaving.

...

Eames’s definition of dropping him off somewhere safe is to stick him back in his own car before driving off.

After he’s sure he’s good to drive, he goes to Tuck’s place.

“FDR?”

Shirtless, Tuck blinks at him as he runs his hands through his messy hair.

Kissing Tuck, dropping to his knees, and/or smacking Tuck upside the head are all things it would not be a good idea to do.

Saying, “I was in the backseat under the covering; he drugged me with a paralytic,” might not have been the best idea, either, but he can’t take it back once it’s out.

…

Tuck manages to expertly avoid him for nearly three weeks.

He’s checked out by company doctors again, he stays at Nana Foster’s while security to his apartment is upgraded, and Tuck forces him to keep their conversations either innocuous or work-related by refusing to come near him unless there’s people around.

Finally, knowing Joe will be at Katie’s, he breaks into Tuck’s place.

Sitting on the bed in front of the TV, Tuck looks at him with tired eyes. “Really?”

“Yep.”

Tuck starts to get out of bed. “Do you want something to eat or drink?”

Pushing Tuck back down, he takes off his shoes, belt, and pants before getting on the other side of the bed. “What are we watching?”

“FDR-”

“If you don’t want to talk about it, we won’t talk about it. But something’s gotta change, man. What are we watching?”

“This- You- What’s the plan? To sleep here?”

“The security upgrades at my place are done. Want to go sleep in my bed instead?”

A large part of him doesn’t know what exactly he’s doing, but he figures, if Tuck is forced to realise he’s not having sex with anyone, maybe, Tuck will let him have sex with Tuck.

Besides, just sharing a bed with Tuck outside of missions requiring it is something he’s been wanting for a long time.

“You’re insane. And ridiculous. Ridiculously insane.”

“Your observation is noted, Captain Obvious.”

Scoffing, Tuck turns the volume back on, and the answer is: They’re watching some indie drama Tuck most likely got legally from the library.

He falls asleep with an arm over Tuck’s chest.

…

After making breakfast, Tuck says, “Okay, let’s talk.”

He swallows his bite of eggs. “I love you. I think I might be in love with you. You’re right, being a godparent is different from taking a more active parenting role, but I love Joe. I can take parenting class if it’d make you feel better. Actually, that might be a good idea all on it’s own.”

“But anyway,” he carefully wraps a hand around one of Tuck’s, “I promise you, I’d never cheat on you, Tuck. No more honeypot missions, no more one-night stands, no more touching anyone beyond handshakes, hugs, kisses on the cheek, and whatever force is needed to apprehend the bad guys.”

“I- look, man, I can’t promise I’d never be tempted, never find myself wanting sex with someone else. What I can promise is, being with you would be something I wanted more. Sex that may or may not be good with someone who may or may not be important, that doesn’t compare to a life with you. You and Joe both.”

Tuck leans over, and no dream of Tuck kissing him has ever been this good.

…

They call in, they spend the majority of the day in Tuck’s bed, and then, they start working out what their relationship will hopefully be like.

A part of him wonders if, someday, he’ll need a new totem.


End file.
